


Paranoia

by orphan_account



Series: HSWC 2014 - Bonus Rounds [5]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Fear, Humiliation, M/M, Omorashi, Wetting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-21
Updated: 2014-07-21
Packaged: 2018-02-09 18:41:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1993668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dave wakes up in the middle of the night on the meteor and needs to pee. No big deal, except for the knowledge that there's a murderous clown wandering around.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Paranoia

**Author's Note:**

> I started this for a [HSWC prompt](http://hs-worldcup.dreamwidth.org/22187.html?thread=6589867&posted=1#cmt6743467), but I went rather off the rails with it...

Distant bike horns and shadowy figures haunt your dreams. When you abruptly awake, not sure of how long you slept, you find yourself covered in cold sweat. The sheets are tangled and hanging off the edge of the bed. Your abdomen aches and your throat feels dry; you grab the glass of water on your nightstand and chug it, waiting for your nerves to settle.

Slowly, your breathing returns to normal and the irrational terror of your nightmare subsides, though the discomfort in your abdomen remains. As you lean over to grab the sheets, you realize just how swollen your bladder is. You’re not going to be able to fall back asleep until after you go take a piss.

Sighing, you put on your shades and swing your feet out of bed. The walk to the bathroom is obnoxiously long, a good five minutes, and not for the first time you kick yourself for your poor choice of rooms on the meteor. In retrospect, selecting a room primarily on the basis of it being as far from Karkat’s as possible wasn’t wise.

The only sound as you walk is the tinny echo of your footsteps. You try to focus on that rather than your physical and emotional discomfort. The latter is stupid and the former will get dealt with as soon as you can get to a urinal, but both make every movement trying. You shift the waistband of your pants more than once, trying to get it into a position that doesn’t press against your bladder quite so hard.

A distant noise makes you flinch, barely managing to stop yourself from leaking in your pants. You freeze, not daring to breathe as you strain to hear what it might have been (and to not piss yourself - jesus that was close).

You listen hard for several agonizing moments, but hear nothing besides the fuzzy beat of your own heart, bah-bam-bah-bam-bah-bam in your eardrums. There’s nothing else, and there’s no one else here; you’re being paranoid.

_Yeah, you may be paranoid, but the clown is also a fucking killer. And he’s still on the meteor with you._

Your mind jumps back to the conversation you had with Karkat yesterday.

TG: so have you seen your clown friend around lately  
CG: THAT SHITSNACK KEEPS TO HIMSELF. YOU KNOW I HARDLY EVER SEE HIM.  
CG: IF I’M LUCKY, HE’LL RESPOND TO MY MESSAGES MORE THAN ONCE A WEEK.  
TG: sounds like a shitty friend  
CG: HE’S NOT MY FRIEND, HE’S MY MOIRAIL.  
CG: OR MORE IMPORTANTLY, I’M HIS. I DON’T FUCKING NEED HIM TO CALM ME DOWN OUT OF FITS OF HOMICIDAL RAGE.  
TG: no just out of fits of romcom induced or cupcake related rage  
CG: CUPCAKES ARE A BULLSHIT CONCEPT.  
CG: EVERYTHING ABOUT HUMAN PASTRIES IS BULLSHIT.  
CG: YOUR SPECIES ISN’T DESIGNED TO SHOOT DOZENS OF GRAMS OF SUGAR STRAIGHT DOWN THEIR PROTEIN CHUTES.  
TG: youre just mad you barfed the one time we let you have one  
TG: and now you cant have any more  
CG: I DIDN’T LIKE IT ANYWAY! I ONLY TRIED IT BECAUSE YOU AND ROSE WOULDN’T SHUT THE FUCK UP ABOUT SHARING CULTURAL EXPERIENCES.  
CG: WHICH, I MIGHT ADD, HAS ONLY GONE ONE WAY ON YOUR END, CONSIDERING HOW RUDELY YOU TURNED DOWN GRUBLOAF *AND* ANY LESSONS ON QUADRANTS.  
TG: yeah sorry i dont wanna eat troll babies like you cannibals do  
TG: and your freaky playing card relationships have fuckall relevance to me  
TG: except in that one of them apparently is supposed to keep your murderhappy juggalo bro from actually doing the murder thing  
TG: and hows that going so far  
CG: HE’S NOT AT ACUTE RISK OF MURDERING ANYONE RIGHT NOW.  
CG: I THINK.  
TG: oh ok cool thats totally reassuring  
CG: FOR SOMEONE WHO SHITS ON QUADRANTS AT EVERY OPPORTUNITY POSSIBLE, YOU’RE SURE INTERESTED IN MY MOIRALLEGIANCE.  
CG: IF YOU’RE ACTUALLY WORRIED HE’LL KILL YOU, YOU’RE PROBABLY OVERREACTING.  
CG: BESIDES, UNLIKE SOME OF US, YOU’RE GOD TIER. EVEN IF HE DID KILL YOU, SO WHAT? YOU’LL COME BACK.

Just because you’ll come back doesn’t mean dying doesn’t suck though.

You keep walking as quickly as you can, refusing to stop to press your legs together. That glass of water you downed just a few minutes ago feels like it’s already running through you, even though logically that’s absurd. More likely you just notice your desperation more now that you’re out of the comfort of your bed and actively thinking about getting to the bathroom. 

“Well look who it motherfucking is.”

You’ve only heard it a couple of times before, but Gamzee’s voice is unmistakable - and startling. A spurt of piss escapes you as you nearly jump out your skin and look around wildly. You manage to stop it, but your body _aches_ and threatens to give out again as your eyes settle on the dark figure with long, twisting horns that’s frighteningly close.

“Great to see you too, dude, but I gotta get going,” you say quickly. If you weren’t so busy getting a really bad feeling about those clubs of his, you’d be worried about him noticing the urine trickling down your thigh. Between the thick fabric and the poor lighting, it’s probably not that obvious, and again, you’re more worried about getting your brain bashed in than him noticing. As he gets closer - why aren’t you getting out of here faster?! - you can see that the clubs still have patches of olive and indigo on them. Troll blood.

“Why are you getting your scamper on, bro? You ain’t got no need to be in such a motherfucking rush.” Gamzee shifts both clubs to one hand and twirls them, and you don’t dare to look away but you’re tripping over your own feet (real fucking smooth, Dave) as you try to hurry. You can’t turn around; if you turn around he’ll whack you in the head and you’ll be out. Logically you know you’re god tier; emotionally you still have a good healthy fear of death.

“Human biology does weird things, man. I’ll be right back, I swear-”

Gamzee glares and charges, reaching out for you as he shouts, “DON’T MOTHERFUCKING LIE TO ME!”.

Fear pierces your heart and warmth floods your boxers as Gamzee grabs your shoulder roughly with his free hand. You cry out incoherently as he pushes you against a wall, pressing his body up against yours and fuck he’s going to kill you _and_ feel you pissing your pants and you’re practically crying because you cannot stop the hot stream soaking your pant legs and Gamzee’s club is pressed against your face.

You choke on a sob, making a pathetic noise as your pissing becomes audible. Your body is pushing urine out with great force, some of it spilling out of the crotch of your pants and more trickling out the bottoms, soaking your socks and puddling on the floor. A bemused look crosses Gamzee’s face, and you could fucking die right now in humiliation as his gaze drops to your pants, to the huge wet spot and the liquid splattering onto the metal floor. The relief washing over you would feel amazing if you weren’t such a wreck, your bladder completely and utterly freed, releasing every unwanted drop of pee, your dick and balls and legs now nestled in warm, wet fabric, a sensation that would feel so good physically if it weren’t so fucking disgusting.

The stream is finally dying down as Gamzee abruptly barks with laughter. The unexpected sound makes you piss forcefully again for a moment, a fast spurt that you can hear as it goes straight through your saturated crotch to the floor below you. The troll keeps laughing and laughing, lowering his club as he stands back.

“You’re a motherfuckin' joke,” he howls. “I’d thought you might be some hateful material, but you’re so scare-able that just seein’ me made you piss your pants. That is the least hateful shit I could ever have thought up. Pitiful, in the nastiest motherfuckin’ way.”

Gamzee shakes off his shoes at you, splattering you with drops of piss - not that it matters, since you’re already covered in it. You slump back against the wall, shaking, as he keeps laughing and turns around. You’re still standing there, pants soaked, burning face streaked with tears, and confused as all hell, long after you can no longer hear his footsteps.


End file.
